I shook my head and studied the device. “In Idaho, they’re all potato guns. Don’t get fancy.” Her gun was decent. The PVC pipe was a light gray and looked like it had been cut and primed fairly well. Growing up in Idaho, I’d made more than my fair share of potato guns to shoot at trees or into the lake. Sasha had what looked like four inch PVC pipe connected to two inch, which made the barrel. “You loaded?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, her smile gleeful. “Got a spud in the gun and I’ve already filled the opening with hairspray.”
I pursed my lips. “That’s called the combustion chamber. Good hairspray or the cheap stuff?”
“Cheap stuff,” the blonde to her right said. “It’s better.”
That was true. When it came to igniting a potato gun, the cheaper the hairspray, the better. No question. “This close a potato projectile could cause some serious damage,” I said. If Sasha didn’t know that, she needed to understand.
“Good,” she said, licking her lips.
All righty, then.
“Stay away from Devlin,” she said. Her friend ignited a lighter and handed it to Sasha. She smiled.
Crap.
She stuck the lighter into the ignition hole.
The potato fired out and I ducked inside my car. The explosive hit the rear panel and dented it with a loud crunch. Fury caught me, and I leaned over to yank my gun out of my purse, stepping out and pointing it at her. “Drop the potato gun,” I snapped.
Sasha’s eyebrows rose. Both of them. “Hey. Give me another potato.”
The blonde reached back into the truck. She still wore bruises from fighting with me.
“Forget the potato, lady,” I ordered.
Sasha glared at my gun. “Put that down.”
“No,” I growled, stepping toward her with my hands steady on my gun. “Listen here, ladies. This is a Lady Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter, and it beats a potato gun any day of the week. Especially since my weapon is loaded and now yours is not. Get your asses back into the truck.” I was so finished messing around with Sasha, even if she was undercover. She’d just dented my car. The car I loved.
They all scrambled back into the truck—except for Sasha. She moved toward me, her generous hips swaying. When she reached me, she let the potato gun dangle. “Sorry about this,” she whispered.
“Me too. Drop the potato gun,” I said, keeping mine now pointed at her leg. “I will shoot your foot.” Ah, probably not. But she didn’t know me well enough to make a determination.
She faltered.
Yeah, I knew how long it took to make a good potato gun, and losing one sucked. The Lordes men would not be happy to have it confiscated like this. She studied my eyes and then gently set the gun to lean against the dent in my car.
“You’re taking this undercover crap a little far, don’t you think?” I whispered, keeping my expression as mean as I could since the other women were watching.
“No,” she whispered back, her lipstick still a bright red. “I need their trust and respect.”
We were about the same height, but that was all. “Do you think you have it? With a freaking potato gun?” I asked.
“There was some sort of dustup between the guys last week, and they settled it with a potato gunfight. We’ve been drinking, and this seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said. “Aiden mentioned last night that you were opening a law firm and to stay out of your way, so it was easy to find the location, and I figured you’d be here.” She hiccupped. “Ug. Cheap booze.”
Yeah, she did smell like whiskey. I shook my head. “What you all do to go undercover is a lot. Do you even know who you are any longer?” Not that it was any of my business. Well, except she did just shoot a potato at my car. I guess that did give me rights.
Her chin went up. “Oh, I know exactly who I am. In fact, I think I claimed my man last night at the complex, so yeah. Shooting potatoes at you is just the cherry on the top.”
If she’d meant to throw me off, she failed. While I knew Aiden would do many things for an undercover operation, hurting me wasn’t one of them. Sasha obviously wanted me to ask her about last night, and it wasn’t going to happen. “Then I assume you’re finished with this silliness?” I asked.
Surprise filtered through her expression that she quickly hid. “Not sure, but you made your point. I wasn’t expecting you to be armed.”
I’d been armed with some type of weapon from the day I’d been kidnapped as a ten-year-old and saved by Aiden Devlin. First knives and now a gun. “I think we understand each other, then,” I said. “Right?”
“Right. Just agree to leave Devlin alone for the duration, and I’ll say you gave in to my friends, and we’ll leave you alone,” Sasha said.
